Among The Wolves

Trek

Cry? Scream? Beg for mercy? Run? Hug the nearest tree and never let go? I contemplated each action over and over. If I could I would do them all at the same time. Instead, I did what I wanted to do least of all. Trudge in front of the other recruiters as the Wos’Theians made us hike, single file, farther into their country. "Don't look up!" They yelled. "Stare at your feet!" They charged. 

Unable to look up at the horizon, I hugged my bruised biceps and stared at my feet. Left,... left,... left, right, left. The fact that all I could hear was Commander Tevit's gnarly voice made me feel even more sick. I wondered, at first, why the werewolves were making us do a silly thing like look at our feet, but the silliness grew old quickly. It truly was tormenting. I itched to rub the back of my aching neck but did not dare to. 

"Put your head down!" 

I jerked in surprise when the loud Wos’Theian soldier snapped behind me. I had my head down. He could not have been talking to me.

There was a sound of wrestling,  "Leave me alone, you furball! You hair-brains can't do this! Let go! Let go!"

That voice! He's the boy last in line! Without thinking, I turned to look at the commotion. I caught a glimpse of the boy, who could not have been more than 14 years old, struggling to free himself from a man who gripped him by the shoulders. It could not have been more than a split second of seeing all this before something hard struck my cheek. My right leg gave out from under me. "Keep your eyes to the ground!"

I opened my eyes to see big red drops fall to the weeds. Instantly, I felt a woose in my head. Ugh? Black, rough,  leathery shoes stepped into my vision. I trained my eyes on the wispy field grass. 

The owner of the black shoes growled. It was as if a large grizzly bear was grunting next to me. In a frightened frenzy, I shielded myself with my arms. I started begging, “Please don’t- I am sorry - I didn't mean to!” 

The man grabbed me under the arm. Why this to me? I closed my eyes, expecting pain, blood, and death. “Don't move.” He started to pull me back in line. I allowed him to do so with no struggle and stayed fixed when he let go of me.

I could see from the shoes, the Wos’Theian turn to the commotion behind me where the boy was still spitting curses and putting up a fight. The man had a stace of a leader, he probably was. It was only confirmed by his next command. "Deal with him." The instruction was short, curt, yet lethal. With a hidden meaning.

Abruptly, the boy's yelling was cut off and turned to screaming. A bloody screaming. 

My insides twisted like ropes. I had to grip my pants and bite my lips at the audio agony. 

The screaming continued.

Are they killing him? Please stop! Finally, I gave in and covered my ears. That did nothing to muffle the hysterical noise. 

Then, by all things merciful, he finally stopped. 

I heard a slump and a thump. Then silence.

He's dead?

"Get up."

Weeping - he's alive! 

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I gasped, and my chest did a sudden expansion.

"Move!"

A painful poke to my side told me that the command was meant for me. 

So, I began trudging again. The mood was a whole lot worse; before I was scared, now, I was completely petrified. If they were trying to intimate us, they did a thorough job of it. Even my bones were quaking.